


Pearl Gets Off

by obstreperose



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Female Solo, Girl Penis, Masturbation, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstreperose/pseuds/obstreperose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Pearl, extremely pent up and trying to strike a concord with herself, fantasises about her teammates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pearl Gets Off

The sound of rushing water was calm and continuous, but inside, Pearl felt disrupted, as if some small internal seam had been plucked apart and now she was stumbling instead of standing straight. Physically, of course, she was straight-backed and elegant as ever, but the soft internal tumult had driven her to a place of solitude. So: her room in the temple, where the shimmering waterfalls fell ever, where she could feel like a mote of light mixing and commingling with the water only, nothing with thoughts or with feelings.

Her long legs dangled over the edge of the pillar of water, which could according to the needs of a gem rush free or support your weight like a cushion. Crystal sheen on every side, but she tried to focus only on the water, on its sound.

It was no good. It  _would_  out.

The truth was, Pearl was dreadfully pent up. Sexual release was a constant off-on lure to her: a dent in the facade, it also involved an acknowledgement of her body and its various messy, disorderly physicalities that a part of her quietly craved while another still rejected.

Her hand travelled over the crotch of her lightweight shorts, feeling the soft, warm lump there, nascent now, but willing at any moment to spring to - what would she call it - aspiration. Only the tips of her fingers touched it, as delicately as she would the petal of a flower. Then suddenly she felt her arm easing in, closed her eyes briefly with the intensity of the sensation - her needs briefly taking over - and felt herself pressing the warm skin of her palm down over her sex through the snug fabric, easing it back in a stroking motion so that her fingers cupped first the head and then passed shiveringly sensate over the shaft.

It was inevitable. She had to, she told herself, as if steeling herself to a difficult task, and slid with dancer’s grace out of the confines of her shorts, feeling the warm-wet flow of the enchanted water against her bare bottom with a shiver, letting her legs part, just slightly, to admit the slight weight of her sex, its need to breath after days of being trapped and stringently ignored.

The first thing that hit her was a hint of slight, sexual musk; wafting up to her nose as she slipped to semi-nudity, it made her purse her lips and draw her shoulders slightly in. Her sex smelled salty, warm, fluid: so unlike the cleanliness she scrupulously willed for the rest of her body. She was pale there, as chalky as the rest of her skin: a short, plump shaft, its head shrouded in a neat foreskin, a tight thatch of pubic hair bordering the base.

Such a silly thing. And yet, to look at it…it did incite something in you, just. Made the hand want to draw close, and lured the eye: sent the mind spinning to imaginations of dangerous, silly things, most of them involving Amethyst and Garnet…in short, it made one lose control of oneself. Even if just briefly. Even if just for the time it took to grasp yourself, a hand to your breast, the other nestled moving, jerking, between your legs, and find release.

She was stiffening up, because under this line of thought, more muscular and more supple, there had risen up another one about the broad, soft-edged curve of Garnet’s hips, how they would feel (one treacherous imagining) against her lips through fabric, Pearl on her knees, kissing Garnet, Garnet’s hand ruffling fondly through her hair. Her mouth moving, and Garnet slipping her clothes loose with a versatile motion, letting Pearl’s tongue touch skin…the slight salt of sweat there, the smell of another gem.

She didn’t shake herself from it. Let it carry on. Her fingers tendered down and brought themselves around her cock (that was what it was, she thought resolutely), only four stiff inches, but achingly eager in her hand for all that, the tips of her fingers splaying through her balls, pressing them back up into herself. A roll of the wrist peeled her foreskin back (sticky with fluid, with heat, with arousal) and the musk in the air became firm, even slightly raunchy. Pearl groaned. Now she was imagining Amethyst, a husky laugh in her throat as she spread with thick fingers the lips of a glistening, fluid-soaked pussy, bushy white hair fringing its lips, and encouraged her lover to dig in. She had seen Amethyst up close like that, once or twice…not because they shared any intimate relationship, but because Amethyst was habitually careless about her clothes. Pearl thought that, once or twice, it might have been that she wanted to shock her. If so, it had had quite the opposite effect: outwardly scandalised, she had kept in her head and in some deep part of her erotic imagination the image of that swollen, dripping pussy, what it would look like if Amethyst were to roll her fingers over it, what it would  _feel_  like to be -

Her cock twitched in a jolt of firm sensation: Pearl gasped; she looked down from her eyes-closed reverie and saw a bead of precome divulged from her slit, glistening and bright. The sight of it was immeasurably erotic, and she lost herself for a few fierce seconds in gripping her stiff, vein-bright shaft tight and pulling at it, deep, gripping strokes that rolled back her foreskin around the rim of her crown, let the pale blue-green flesh, glistening with arousal, expose itself to the scintillating air. A tension in her abdomen, deep, rolling pleasure, like a tiny subliminary orgasm. She wasn’t close yet, of course. No, it did take time. And it didn’t hurt to  _enjoy_  it, surely…

Cheeks flushing, she kept herself back on that original train of thought. Amethyst’s warm, enfolding wetness, vulva flush, lips swollen and would be snug if it were not for the way her fingers gaped them out, showed the capacious purple warmth-wetness of her entrance. Pearl’s mouth already wet with her friend’s honey and the firm, womanly smell of Amethyst clinging to her lips, a film on her tongue. Amethyst inviting her to mount. She’d swear, use a word that Pearl wouldn’t. Pearl would shiver with half-concealed appreciation at this.

How it would feel: her heels dug back in the rippling waters as they fell freely from the site of her perch. How it would feel to let her slender hips straddle Amethyst’s, face to face, and nestle the unconscionably stiff length of her prick against those lips, buck-thrust one, two times, watch the other gem’s lips-pressed look of pleasure. Then her crown, spreading Amethyst’s lips around it…her sex engaged in warm-tight wetness, the soft ripple of the embrace, and her soft, full-bodied lover grunting throatily and urging her hips up against her.

Pearl didn’t think she’d last long, in that case. A few desperate, deep-love strokes, and that would be it: it had been so long, so long, since she’d had anything like that. She imagined panting, leaning against Amethyst’s body, brushing her lips like a fierce animal over those thick, stubby nipples, and closed the fantasy there. Back in the real world: her cock was achingly stiff now, and the seal of her grip was cloying with soft, slippery heat. She was ample: produced more pre-come than she knew what to do with. With a fluid sigh of breath she peeled her top up over her narrow body, and one hand cupped at one pin-prick of a breast, easing it up under the pressure of her palm, stroking the centre of her soft-skinned hand over the sharp, arousal-swollen nipple. Her rear shifted in the warm flow of the magic water, letting some of it flow close to her, stimulating the soft innerness of her pucker, sensitive and rarely touched. She was all senses now. There was nothing else of her except the mellow, calm-heated flow of thought that accompanied this deep arousal.

She abandoned fantasy. Instead, in a rare moment, she managed to focus on her body, in the place where it was, doing the thing that it was: not fearing it but enjoying it, the slippery sensation of her own copious fluid coating her hand, her sex, the tart, musky smell of her overworked heat hitting her senses over and over every second. On an impulse she lifted her hand up to her lips, and (shuddering slightly with the forbidden, irresistible proscription of the act) rolled her neat, narrow tongue against her fingers where they shone with salty, slippery fluid. The taste was in her mouth all at once, and she nearly choked swallowing even that small amount, but it had been worth it. For a second she was free of anxiety, riding the wave merely of her own body’s innate wants, its savours.

She dropped her hand again, and now her firm, laboured masturbation was lubricated by her wet-frothy saliva, and each grip of her hand downwards around her achingly stiff prick was punctuated by a dainty ah from her lips, a little whimper interjecting at odd moments. She thought dreamily again of Garnet’s ass, thick curvaceous cheeks, and burying her face between them, using her tongue, giving her leader love. A shot of shame mixed with hot, urgent desire passed through her and her cock twitched and tremored. Why did she have to be so  _relentlessly_  inappropriate?

She leaned forward into herself now, and, her lithe body all in a hunch, felt the shiver of her shoulders as she reached a near-peak. The dancing electricity of climax coming close - the thought of Amethyst gently holding her, of Garnet catching her lips in a kiss - her balls tensing, breath catching, cheeks flush with a most un-Pearl-like sweat.

She arched her shoulders back - and came, christening the water with a glimmering spray, six steadily releasing shots of semen pulsing from her slit as her length and the entirety of her body shook in love-frenzied convulsions. Her breasts sang with sensation as one hand continually tweaked them, teeth scraping against her lower lip, face contorted and small noises arising from her throat, whimpering forward-sounds of want. She kept stroking herself, pulling up and down slower and looser on her ever-sensitive, softening cock as the last few dribbles spilt - didn’t feel finished, as though there was more there, much more - but her breath was gone and she fell like a butterfly back against the lifting warmth of the water, huffing slightly, cheeks warm, mind for a few moments blissfully clear.

That was all she’d wanted. All really. She was still dribbling against her bare, almost concave belly, and in just a few moments, she knew, she would find the sticky, salt-slippery warm feeling an unbearable uncleanliness. But for now she was content to enjoy it - being, in the blissy afterglow of a sought-for climax, immune for a few sweet warm moments to any conscious awareness of her prating body.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this very smutty story! If you did, you can find more of my writing at obstreperose.tumblr.com. I take requests of all kinds, and would love to hear all your no doubt wonderful prompts!


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